


Reunion

by dragonspell



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Bottom Leonard Snart, M/M, POV Outsider, Pre-Series, Top Mick Rory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 15:51:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6476443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rory strides into the place like it’s his, all brash confidence and sure of his welcome.  It’s a mistake, though, one that gets a gun leveled at his chest as he’s pierced by the icy stare of Leonard Snart.  Even at this distance, I can see Snart’s flat look, a hint of his blue eyes, and a whole lot of lethalness.  With any luck, he’ll shoot Rory in short order and I can bust him for the murder.  Two scumbugs off the streets, one permanently.  Now that’s rehabilitation.  I duck back down and wait for the shot.  Except that it never comes.  </p><p>Rory gets loud.  “Three fucking years!”  After that, it takes me a minute to realize that it’s not words that I’m hearing, or even a fight.  It’s something very different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

Some men are simply born evil. There ain’t no helping that, no “rehabilitation”, no making monsters fit for human society. Some men only exist on this earth to try and destroy it. Mick Rory is one such man. Fuck, half the assholes in Iron Heights, too, but Mick Rory, he’s one of the worst.

See, nowadays, the politicians and the bureaucrats, they’re all up in arms about “saving” people from themselves, about treating the criminal element right out of the brain with drugs and tender loving care, maybe an education or a job. They look at a stone cold murderer and think that, maybe, just maybe, there’s something there worth saving. Something that might end up helping come election season.

Fucking idiots.

They make all their speeches, get the ignorant all full of their naïve bullshit, and then waltz off when it comes time to offer the condolences to the victims and clean up the mess that their misplaced hope has made. Because men like Rory only want to see the world burn.

Those down in the shit, they know. They work with the pieces of shit like Rory every day and they know that there is just no rehabilitating evil, no curing crazy. But it’s not their choice to make. It’s the politicians and the bureaucrats.

And that’s why Mick Rory is walking free today, strolling out of Iron Heights like he’s not making plans to burn the city to the ground, like he’s not going to go right out and kill someone. Oh, sure, he’ll wait a day or two, maybe even skip town for awhile, but sure as shit, he’ll be back and someone will be dead and the politicians and the bureaucrats won’t have any pretty words that will make it all better.

Mick Rory should have a rap sheet rivaling War and Peace by now, full of thefts and arsons and enough straight-up murders to make the politicians and bureaucrats stutter and turn pale. Thanks to crooked lawyers and judges, though, and some clever escape plans that are well outside of Rory’s typical skill set, there’s only a few, enough to hint at what the man’s capable of, but not detailed enough to stop the man from getting paroled. This shit right here is why it should be three strikes and done, and, fuck, yes, Juvie should count. There’s no curing crazy, and Mick Rory burned down a building when he was 13 and has probably been stealing shit since he was old enough to walk. It’s only gotten worse from there, much of which nobody can fucking prove, but everyone knows.

But, sure, yeah, a few years of peacefully playing with his lighter in a cell and he’s all better now. That’s why he’s not heading to a hotel or halfway house or even a fucking bar, but instead is on his way down to the abandoned warehouses on the East side where all the best rats like to make their nests. City Hall’s been making noises about “revitalizing” the area for years now, but they’re too enamored of their pretty words and fairy tales to actually do anything. 

Rory passed up the grimy bars, grunting at a few of the resident lowlifes. It’s anyone’s guess which ones are going to help him commit his next crime. Rory’s not exactly known for keeping stable company. Well, except for Snart. Not that anyone can prove it, of course.

Way back when, when Snart was a street punk with a too pretty face trying to live up to his daddy’s expectations, there’d been a rash of thefts that had all seemed to mysteriously end in a bonfire. Of course, they’d only been able to charge Snart and Rory with just one count, “circumstantial evidence” and a whole lot of plausible deniability riding to the rescue along with a crooked lawyer looking to pay off a few debts by getting Lewis Snart’s kid’s sentence reduced. The judge had taken it easy on the cop’s kid because at that time, a lot of people were still under the impression that Lewis Snart had once upon a time done his job. Should have thrown the fucking book at them but instead they only got a few months living off the government and getting the criminal education of a lifetime with Central City’s worst residents. 

No one’s managed to get anything to stick to Snart since. He’s like the ice that’s got to run through his veins, cold and slick. Evidence is nonexistent, witnesses come up missing and no former associates want to testify. Not that Snart ever seems to work with anyone twice. He’s as leery about that as Rory is. Funny, that they seem to have a thing for working with each other. 

Snart’s got to be the reason why Rory hasn't been locked up in one of the darkest cells in Iron Heights, though. There’s been things throughout the years that look like they might have been Rory’s doing, but evidence just won’t be there to prove it. Except for this last one, the one that put Rory behind bars for three years. Rory’d been pissed about it, too, how it all went down. He and Snart had needed a third man and they’d found one but they should have been more careful about vetting him. The man had bumbled into a police officer and, scared shitless, he’d confessed to the whole plan right on the spot. Snart had gotten away, leaving Rory in the museum holding the goods, and it had taken nearly six men to finally bring Rory down. His former accomplice told the whole thing to the cops, even stating that Snart had indeed been there and that he and Rory were as tight as could be, before he’d learned the hard way why no one testified against Leonard Snart or Mick Rory. The report said that he’d been stabbed twenty-five times, one for each year that the DA was hoping to lock Rory away for.

Of course, a few favors later and Rory had gotten just eight years, with a chance of parole in three. The justice system at its finest. Snart had allegedly skipped town and that had been that.

But now, here Rory was breaking into a rundown warehouse. Could bust him for the parole violation but it would be more interesting to see what’s got him so dead focused that he made a beeline from Iron Heights to here.

The door squeaks a little but thankfully it’s quiet enough and with a little effort, despite Rory’s fading stomps, you can make it so your feet hardly echo at all. I creep along the outside wall and sneak a peek at what looks to be a cozy little nest. Fucking knew it. How long this building’s been infested is anyone’s guess but I fucking knew that Rory was looking to make plans for his next job. “Rehabilitation.” Such a fucking joke. It’ll be worth it, though, to bring in another criminal or two off the streets as well as put Rory away again until another bleeding heart liberal made another pretty speech about caring for Central City’s scum. 

Rory strides into the place like it’s his, all brash confidence and sure of his welcome. It’s a mistake, though, one that gets a gun leveled at his chest as he’s pierced by the icy stare of Leonard Snart. 

Even at this distance, I can see Snart’s flat look, a hint of his blue eyes, and a whole lot of lethalness. With any luck, he’ll shoot Rory in short order and I can bust him for the murder. Two scumbugs off the streets, one permanently. Now that’s rehabilitation. I duck back down and wait for the shot.

Except that it never comes. When I look again, Snart’s lowered the gun and he and Rory are talking low and quiet, Snart’s taunting drawl and Rory’s gruff growl just rumbling incomprehensible sounds. God damn it. I have to circle around, but I move closer, this time slipping behind a pile of boxes near the back of Snart’s little makeshift palace. 

Rory gets loud. “Three fucking years!”

“What do you want me to say, Mick?” Snart tosses back and metal slams to the floor with a harsh clang as the table screeches across the cement and Rory’s boots echo through the building, clomping closer. “Mick,” Snart warns, but he’s cut off. This time, I’m close enough to hear, but it takes me a minute to realize that it’s not words that I’m hearing, or even a fight. It’s something very different.

I swallow and inch the snake camera I borrowed from the tech guys between a set of crates. The little display shows me what I’ve already started to suspect. Rory’s got Snart pinned against a stack and both of their mouths are occupied with something that doesn’t need words. Rory’s fire and passion, his hands dragging over Snart’s arms while Snart meets him with a cool calm, barely accepting it and I’m wondering if I’m about to witness a break-up or a rape. Then Snart’s ice finally cracks.

Snart lunges forward and his hands come up to grip Rory’s face, holding him steady while Snart tries to eat him whole. He shoves Rory’s aggression back with his own ferocity, meeting Rory’s fire with heat of his own. Snart braces himself on the displaced table and wraps his legs around Rory’s waist, making sure that neither of them are going anywhere for awhile. Something sinks low in my gut, stabbing like a knife wound, but I shove it away because I refuse to acknowledge it.

With Snart giving back as good as he’s getting, it’s like the inhibitor that was throttling down Rory suddenly breaks. He growls and bites and attempts to climb up on the table with Snart, getting as close to fucking him as he possibly can while they both still have their clothes on. I’m left staring at the porno unfolding on the display because I can’t seem to look away. My heart thumps painfully loud in my chest.

Rory breaks it off, pulling his head back to pant. Snart looks drugged as he follows him up, but Rory pushes him back down. Just like that, Snart’s back to himself, razor sharp smarts snapping back into place. “What?” he asks, his voice sounding like it always does, like he hasn’t been attempting to give Mick Rory a tonsillectomy with his tongue.

Rory grins. “You miss me?” He moves a big hand over the back of Snart’s head, gently rubbing the man’s shorn hair. “You miss me, Lenny? You haven’t been spending _time_ with anybody else have you? While I’ve been gone?”

Snart answers him with a derisive snort. “You already know the answer to that.”

“Good,” Rory growls and drags Snart off the table and into another kiss that gets the both of them stumbling. Rory backs Snart up and maneuvers him around the table—or at least that’s what it looks like until I realize that Snart’s got a hand buried in Rory’s coat and is actively dragging him forward, leading him rather than being led. They pass by me, close enough for me to touch if I wanted, and step onto a mess of blankets and pillows that seems to be serving as Snart’s bed for the moment. Snart lays back and pulls Rory with him. “You going to let me, Lenny?” Rory asks, rough voice gone soft and breathless.

“You already know the answer to that, too,” Snart tells him, and it’s the first time I’ve heard anything approaching a positive emotion in his voice. He sounds almost _fond_. I stare ahead at the wall in front of me, taking my eyes off the scene that’s playing out just a few short feet away. I’ve got to say, I hadn’t seen this one coming. When I’d seen Rory taking off for the warehouse district, I hadn’t thought, hadn’t processed because evil fuckers like Rory do evil fucking things. They don’t…

For a moment, some crazy part of me wants to leave the cons in peace and let them have their little reunion. Then the rational side comes back and kicks that other part back down where it belongs because it doesn’t fucking matter anyway. Leonard Snart is as evil as Mick Rory and after this is over, they’re probably going to get back down to business because why wait? And I can’t go anywhere anyway. With Snart and Rory now basically beside me, there’s no way that I can sneak past the stack of crates on either side without being noticed. I am well and truly stuck. And listening to Mick Rory fuck Leonard Snart.

See, I know that it’s Rory doing the fucking without even looking down at the display because Snart hisses out, “I don’t remember you being this big.” I could have done without knowing about Snart’s feelings about Rory’s dick. Could have gone the rest of my life without it.

Rory answers with the wet sounds of kisses and a purred, “You love it.” The knife wound I’d successfully ignored earlier sinks in again, this time too deep to push away, and I close my eyes and wish that I could afford to cover my ears. I know what it is. I’ve always fucking known. 

Just because my eyes are closed doesn’t mean that I can’t see them. In my head, fueled by Leonard Snart’s quiet little puffs of air and Mick Rory’s steam engine, I can picture them both naked on that mess of sheets, Rory’s biceps and back rippling as he holds Snart’s thighs apart and thrusts between them again and again and again. Snart’s long fingers gripping too tight, giving Snart away, and Snart’s damnably pretty eyes watching Rory with all of the fire that Rory’s giving him, ice temporarily melted.

Jesus fucking Christ. At this moment, I might as well fucking watch because it’s not like it’s going to be worse than the porn playing in my head. I look back down at the display and, yeah, okay, so maybe it is worse. I hadn’t thought that Snart would be licking up the side of Rory’s face or that their legs would be entangled like a pretzel twist, Snart making damned sure that Rory stays where he is until they’re done. Now that I’ve looked, though, I can’t look away. I see the sweat sliding down Rory’s arms, see it dripping onto Snart, see Snart tossing his head back to pant when Rory bites at his skin, see Rory’s thick fingers intertwining with Snart’s and pressing them down into the blankets.

It’s a blessing and a curse when Rory finally comes. He groans and buries himself deep inside of Snart, legs churning in a fruitless attempt to get himself closer while Snart’s eyes go wide and sightless as he stares up at the ceiling. I feel a trickle of relief knowing that it’s almost over even as I swear at my reaction to Rory’s climax. My rational side tries to tell me that it’s just a sympathetic reaction, same thing experienced when watching a porno when you’re not actively jacking it, that you’re just glad that the guy got his rocks off, but my rational side is full of shit. I bite my lip and spread my legs a little as I watch Rory bring Snart off with a few quick strokes of his hand. The camera shifts a little as I position it better and catch the way that Snart’s face contorts before slackening into bliss. Fucking _damn it_. Snart’s face is going to be there waiting for me tonight when I close my eyes, I already know.

Rory nuzzles against Snart’s neck, grinning, pleased, and I finally pull the snake back. I’ve caught nothing but a little self-awareness and I want to kick the wall in frustration. Rory’s rumbling again, saying things like “I missed you, Len,” and “Fuck, that was good,” while Snart laps it up with a self-satisfied purr that’s got my skin prickling with shameful lust.

It’s time to go. Fucking _past_ time. Whatever crime Rory and Snart are going to plan, it doesn’t sound like they’re going to be doing it anytime soon. Now that I know where they’re hunkered down, I can always come back, though I don’t know if I’m going to. I crawl to the left, trying to head back the way I came. Snart’s voice stops me dead. “Where are you going, Detective?”

My blood flashes cold. I might as well be frozen to the spot because I can’t move.

“What?” Rory barks and the stacked crates tumble backwards to show me Mick Rory’s snarl and the business end of a gun. “I’ll fucking kill you,” he growls. Hopefully, people will attend my funeral. Nothing’s sadder than a funeral that no one comes to. I don’t think my ex-wife will show, but there’s hope that my mother will.

Snart tuts, wagging his finger as he slowly sits up. “Mick,” he says. “We don’t kill cops.” Rory snarls, voicing his disagreement, but heels like an obedient attack dog, his gun lifting to point at the ceiling. I know better than to try and move, though.

Snart takes his sweet time sashaying his ass over to our little impasse. He’s still naked and I wish he’d stayed on the bed because his dick is just about eye level and I don’t know how either of them would take it if I were to stare. Rory’s sans-clothes, too, but his barely contained rage covers him. Snart gets down beside me and I get a good look at his icy-eyes. They belay the warmth that’s coming off of him, and the slight sheen of sweat drying on his skin. 

“See,” Snart says, his voice back to his dispassionate drawl, “we don’t kill cops because it brings the heat.” His lips tilt in a mockery of a smile. “It’s something I try to avoid. So, Detective, you’re safe. For _now_.” The smile drops away. “But if you ever do this again, I will kill you. They will never find your body because, Detective, I’m very good at what I do. Do you understand?” I nod and he smiles again. “Good,” he says as he stands. “Mick, show the detective out? I think he’s been here long enough.”

“We’re just going to let him go?” Rory asks in disbelief.

“Yes.” Snart heads back to the bed, seemingly uncaring of his naked ass being on display. “We were just leaving anyway. If or when the detective ever decided to come back, he’s not going to find a thing.” Snart snags a pair of pants off a crate. “You came inside me again,” he says, disgust twisting his voice as he glances over his shoulder at Rory. Rory growls in affirmation, sounding pleased with himself and Snart turns back around and heads into an unlit portion of the warehouse.

I don’t realize that I’m staring after him until Rory snarls at me and clamps a hand on my jacket. “I wouldn’t be getting any ideas,” Rory rumbles. He yanks me upright and brings me in close. “I could still kill you. Don’t matter what Len wants. You keep staring like that and I will.” The puzzle’s already been assembled but now it locks into place, Rory affirming what Snart had not. I wonder how long, if it’s been constant, if it’s mutual. Then I think of Leonard Snart, the captain of cold himself, letting fondness color his voice as he lets hotheaded Mick Rory fuck him, and the questions answer themselves. 

Rory stares at me, watching me sort it out for myself because he’s not nearly as dumb as he lets on and I hope that he’s not going to kill me just for knowing. “You forget everything you saw here,” he says, his rumbling voice rasping over my skin. “Otherwise, I’ll come find you. I’ll visit you some night and make you regret everything you’ve ever done.” He pauses, waiting for an answer, and I nod. Rory nods back and we have an understanding of sorts. “Len says to let you live so I will. He didn’t say how, though.” Then he grins, a face full of crazy.

A patrol finds me later, gagged and bound in a dumpster by the docks, smelling like rotting fish. An anonymous call had been made to the local precinct, telling them that they might find something interesting inside.

Snart and Rory are long gone from the warehouse. I don’t look for them. They’ll show up eventually, I know. Evil always comes back around. 

In the meantime, the politicians make a few more noises about cleaning up the warehouse district, bleeding heart liberals protest outside Iron Heights, and a few more monsters walk free. Life goes on, the same as it’s ever been. 

Nothing changes. Except what now lives in head, etched into my mind by the collision of fire and ice.


End file.
